Italian
by Lonewolf66
Summary: Injured during a mission, Bond seeks help from the one man who he can trust and it progresses from there. Cute 00Q one-shot. rated T because of kissing and I'm a bit paranoid x


_Italian _

_Bond is injured during a mission, but doesn't let on to medical. When he goes to Q for some help they share a moment together because Q is the only one who he will show his weaknesses to. Why is that? 00Q because I love it and think it's cute! Read and enjoy x _

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything to do with the James Bond franchise. I make no money from writing this. Bond and Q as envisioned in Skyfall which belongs to the relevant filmmakers and not me. _

_I recently stumbled upon the 00Q bandwagon and can't seem to get off…enjoy anyway. Apologies for any mistakes or mis-information. _

The kettle whistled loudly in the space of Q's flat. He padded softly into the kitchen, bare footed and dressed in black pajama bottoms and a grey sweat top, yawning widely. It was nearly 11pm and he had been awake for the last 48 hours. Not his longest working stint, he admitted, but still enough to make him feel terrible. A cup of Earl Grey and then off to bed.

The apartment was in semi-darkness, a small light from the bedroom cast a faint glow through the open door that led to the lounge, but the main source of light came from the two laptops Q had open on the coffee table next to the sofa.

As Q poured himself a tea, a red box flashed up on the screen of one of the open laptops, causing an alarm to sound from the speakers. Startled, he replaced the kettle and hurried to the laptop. It was the internal alarm system, one he had rigged into the building. His apartment was the only one on this level and the elevator had just stopped on his floor.

Adrenaline suddenly pulsed through him. No one from MI6 would visit him personally when he was available at the other end of a phone or a computer. He thought to the gun he kept hidden in a false bottom of the chest of drawers in the bedroom. He tapped a few keys, bringing up the live feed from the corridor outside the apartment. The figure approaching his door came into view.

Bond? He breathed a sigh of relief, tension suddenly leaking from his body. Why was 007 visiting his personal apartment? The mission had been a success, Q wasn't to be debriefed until the morning and Bond would have already checked into M and maybe visited the medical bay, although he did tend to avoid them at all costs.

Confused, he pushed his glasses further up his nose and ran a hand through his hair, before he froze, a blush creeping into his cheeks. There was something else he might be inquiring about…

_2 weeks earlier:_

The Quartermaster was sat at his desk in Q branch, his minions scurrying around like mice, hurrying to prep for the upcoming mission. Q was trying to access a couple of files on the secure network when he felt a presence of someone standing before him.

"007," He stated, without looking up, "Can I help you with something?"

He heard a chuckle.

"Q, you never fail to impress me."

"Is that so?" Q answered, glancing up. He took in the image of Bond, his perfectly fitting grey suit and crisp white shirt. He felt himself getting warm under the blue-eyed scrutiny.

There had been tension between the pair ever since Skyfall. It was strange, different, and had contributed to the rumours of a romance between them. Q had been more than happy to quell any of the gossip and hear-say about his and Bond's relationship, insisting it was professional and nothing more. However, it was starting to seem that he had been wrong. His heart leapt at the brush of 007's fingers across his when he handed the agent a weapon, the constant flirtatious banter the pair had, both in MI6 and over the line when on missions, the amount of time Bond seemed to spend milling around the Q branch was, in itself, bringing them unwanted attention.

Q had to admit he liked the attention and could feel the butterflies dancing in his stomach at the sight of the agent before him.

"Bond. If there is something I can help you with then tell me, quickly, because I am very busy and…"

"Have dinner with me." Bond cut in.

Q stopped, his mouth hanging open in complete surprise at what the agent had just asked him. What!? Surely he heard right. Was 007…asking him out?

"I…I…" Q stuttered, stopped, cleared his throat and tried again, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

Bond shrugged.

"There's not much to understand Q. You, me, having dinner, I know a lovely little Italian place in the middle of London that you would love."

Q felt a little thrill at the fact Bond actually thought of a restaurant that he would like. But it would be unprofessional. He watched as Bond circled his desk and came to stand behind him, trying to ignore the heat in his face or the thumping of his excited heartbeat.

He swallowed and tried desperately to remember what he should be saying…

"I'm sorry, 007, but I know what your dinners usually entail...and how they end. I've seen enough on your missions."

The words came out bitter, and he regretted them instantly, but they made 007 chuckle.

He placed his hands on Q's shoulders and leaned down so he was a whisper away from Q's ear, squeezing his fingers gently into the Quartermaster's soft jumper, the agent's breath sending sudden shivers through Q's body.

"We can do that after, if you want."

Q felt his mouth drop open at the suggestive comment.

"I…don't know what to say." He struggled.

"How about yes?" Bond whispered.

Q didn't reply. A thousand reasons of why she should say 'no' raced through his mind but none of them seemed to withstand the want to say 'yes.' After a minute, Bond removed his hands from Q's shoulders, slowly and lazily, and straightened.

"Think about it." He murmured, and walked to the door.

It only took the five steps that 007 took for Q to come to a decision.

"Yes." He blurted.

Bond turned, his hand on the door handle, and smiled widely at Q, as if he knew that Q would agree.

"It's a date then," he murmured softly, "I'll see you when I get back." And then he left.

_Present: _

A loud knock brought Q from his musings and he glanced to the computer screen to see Bond stood at his door, waiting patiently.

Q hurried over to the door, pausing for a moment at the mirror near the entrance, to check his appearance. He grimaced at his reflection, but then shrugged and opened the door.

"Bond." He acknowledged. From where 007 was stood on the threshold to his apartment, Q could smell the hint of a bar, cigarettes and drink. He looked terrible. He was dressed in a pristine suit as usual but his face was contorted in pain and he was holding himself like he was going to break in half.

"007?" Q questioned, "What's wrong? Why are you here?"

"Q." Bond's voice was laced with pain, "I'm in trouble. You were the…only one I thought could help."

Surprised, Q stepped to the side.

"Come in." He murmured softly.

Bond stepped into the apartment with a short nod of his head. Q closed the door and led Bond to the lounge. Bond collapsed onto the sofa. He grunted in pain and closed his eyes for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, and opening his eyes, locked onto Q's, "I didn't want to have to come here, disturb you, I told medical I was fine, wouldn't let them look at me, but…I don't think I'm okay."

Q nodded, and gestured to him, "Show me."

Bond leaned forwards and, slipping off his blazer, he unbuttoned his shirt. Q was distracted by the body underneath for a split second before he realized that a large portion of the shirt was soaked in blood, and when he leaned forwards, he could see a large gash along Bond's side, deep and bleeding, held together with some hap-hazard stitched threat.

"Bloody hell, Bond." He whispered, and hurried into the kitchen to get his first aid kit, one that was significantly better than ones bought by the general public, and were given to every one of the MI6 employees.

He returned a minute later with it and a bowl of warm water and a cloth. He pressed the cloth to the wound.

Bond hissed and gave him a look.

"Well, really Bond, why didn't you let medical see to you?"

"I wouldn't trust those idiots…"  
"But I'm not a doctor!" Q cut in.

"You're good enough for me."

The alcohol smell was stronger now that Q was closer to Bond, but apart from slightly bloodshot eyes, and paler than usual skin, he didn't look drunk. Q grasped Bond's hand and pressed it over the cloth.

"Apply some pressure," He gestured to his desk in the corner of the apartment, "Go and sit over there and I'll see what I can do."

When he came back with a tall glass of orange juice, Bond was sat in the desk chair, examining his side. For a moment, Q couldn't seem to move, or find his voice. It was cliché, of course, but he felt caught in the beauty of the man before him, and all he could do for a long minute, was stare.

Bond glanced up and caught him looking. Q could feel the heavy gaze on him as he approached the desk, blushing, and placed the glass before Bond.

"Drink."

"What for?" Bond asked.

Q rolled his eyes as he took Bond's hand from his side and examined the wound, turning on the desk lamp whilst he did.

"You've been drinking. You _idiot_. Alcohol will not help in this situation; it will only hinder your predicament. Now, drink, it'll help sober you up. No excuses."

As Q prepared the anesthetic, Bond drank. Q pushed the needle deep into Bond's arm, who hissed again but was ignored by Q.

"You are reckless, 007."

"Call me James." Bond replied, ignoring the comment.

Q pulled out the needle and disposed of it. He watched, arms crossed over his chest, as Bond took another drink of orange.

"What happened?" Q asked gently.

"I got into a…disagreement with one of the clients. He managed to slice me with his knife…rookie mistake on my behalf." He glanced down at the wound, "I stitched myself up and thought nothing of it, thinking it would heal by itself but evidently I was wrong."

A few minutes went by, whilst Q wondered who it had been who had managed to get to Bond and where he was now.

"How are you feeling?" Q questioned.

Bond moved slightly.

"Numb"

"Good."

Q knelt down before Bond and started to work on the wound in his side, trying not to think about the situation he now found himself in. The gash started weeping, the blood finally starting to stem, and slowly and surely he managed to tweeze out the jagged edges of the old stitch, whilst cleaning the wound and bandaging it correctly. Q had managed a good stitch, hopefully one that would last till the morning when he could get Bond to the medical centre in MI6.

"There." He murmured, snapping the end of the thread, "Done for now. You'll have to go to medical tomorrow though."

"Thank you, Q."

Q nodded and stood, packing away the kit. When he was finished, he hovered for a moment, wondering whether he should ask the question on his mind.

"007? Why did you go dinking?" Bond looked up at him, surprised, "Why not go straight to MI6 and get yourself seen to?"

Bond was quiet, looking away. Q realized he had never seen this side of him before. He was usually sarcastic, witty and full of banter when he strode into the Q branch, his self important walk demanding respect. Now though, he seemed reserved, quiet, and reluctant to talk. But Q wanted an answer now that he had taken the plunge and asked the question.

"Bond?"

"It's not easy, Q."

"What isn't?" Q asked, slightly confused at the answer.

"My job."

Q stood for a minute, not quite sure what to say.

"Of course it's not easy, isn't that why _you_ do it?"

Bond smiled slightly.

"You overestimate me, Quartermaster."

"You underestimate yourself, 007."

Bond huffed in amusement.

"You should have no room for self pity," Q continued, "Your job is brutal but it is worth-while work that actually saves people. Don't sink into self doubt, Bond. It's not professional." He felt like he was being harsh, and they were not usually what he would have said, but he felt like they were the truth, and it needed to be addressed. He couldn't have one of his best agents doubting himself. It would make Q doubt himself too…and that would never do.

Bond looked up. Q was standing at Bonds knees and could see his eyes were a little more focused now, colour back in his cheeks. He grinned cheekily. Q had a good view of his toned chest, and he looked away, blushing slightly.

"You are right," Bond murmured, "As always."

Q shot him a smile, and went to move off, but Bond grasped his wrist, preventing him from leaving.

"I thought you'd forgotten our…deal, today, when I saw you," He whispered softly, his hand still loosely wrapped around Q's wrist, "You didn't acknowledge it when I got back off the mission."

Q could feel his heart thumping in his chest.

"It wasn't the appropriate time to bring it up." Q answered, his face flushed.

"Is it appropriate now?" Bond nearly whispered, his gaze locked onto Q's.

Q regarded Bond for a long moment. This gorgeous man, sitting here in his apartment, half-naked and bleeding and asking him if it was a good time to talk about their…whatever it was. Q finally let his eyes roam over Bond's body and the grip tightened slightly on his wrist when Bond caught him looking.

"No," Q replied, "There will probably never be a 'good' time to talk, not with what we have to deal with on a daily basis."

"Are you willing to give me a chance?" Bond whispered.

Q forgot all his inhibitions for a moment and grinned.

"How about a test run?" He practically purred. Bond hummed deep in his throat.

"Do your worst." He answered.

Q took a deep breath to steady himself and then took a step forward slightly, pressing in between Bond's legs, making them open wider so he could get closer. The movement made a sound like a growl erupt from Bond throat, eyes half lidded as Q pressed his front flush to Bond's naked chest.

With Bond's head at his stomach, Q slowly brushed his fingers through the graying threads of Bond's hair, his heart pounding in his throat, his head spinning with the intimacy of what was happening.

Q's hands trailed down the back of Bond's head, feeling the fibres pass through his fingers, ghosting over the back of Bond's neck. Bond leaned back slightly into the touch and Q's stomach flipped in anticipation.

Resting his arms on Bonds' shoulders, he leaned down, bumping his nose against the agent's, breathing rapidly, waiting to see if this was actually going to work.

"I haven't…I mean…" Q stuttered for a moment, "Not for a long time…" He trailed off, Bond's breath brushing softly against his jaw, slightly embarrassed at the confession.

"There's no rush," Bond whispered back, "I've wanted this for a while," Q felt him smile against his skin, "We can learn together," Bond's lips touched Q's jaw as he spoke and then he angled his head so their lips connected softly. It was nothing more than a gentle brush, but it brought a small moan from deep within Q. Tightening his grip on Bond's shoulders, he brought them together in a sudden clash of lips and teeth and heated breath.

They kissed passionately, all worry and tension released, Q's slight frame pressed tight against Bond's bare muscles, arms holding each other tightly, hands roaming over bodies.

After a minute, they broke apart, both men breathing heavily. Q rested his forehead on Bond's for a moment, who smiled up at his quartermaster. Q grinned back.

"So, how about that Italian…James."

So, hoped you liked it! I haven't been doing 00Q stuff for very long, this is my first idea/piece that I've written so hope it wasn't too bad and hope that I didn't get very much stuff wrong. I liked how this came out though, better than I expected 00Q! Aww, perfect for each other, don't you think? Reviews are welcome, thanks for reading xx


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